a hard day's night
by wallywesting
Summary: "I'm having the strangest day"/ Clint blows up a toaster, sets fire to a gym, and almost chokes to death, all in a day's work.


a hard day's night

Clint discovered that Tony left the door to the bathroom across the hall from his lab ajar about a week after he had moved into what Tony now affectionately called Avengers Tower. He had discovered it by accident, but no amount of soap, brainwash, or denial would ever wipe the memory clean from his mind.

"What the hell, Stark?" he shouted as he staggered back in the hall. In hindsight, he should have seen it coming, from the liberal amounts of steam emerging from the bathroom, but in his groggy state of mind and the fact that it took Clint a very cold shower to wake up properly on days where he had downtime, the steam had completely slipped his mind as he entered the bathroom and caught a glance at the billionaire muttering to JARVIS while soaping himself down.

"Um, this is my house, I don't have to explain myself," was the reply, cool and clipped, and the water was abruptly turned off. Tony poked his head out into the hall as he wrapped a towel around his waist and explained himself anyway. "This is the closest bathroom to the lab. I need to keep the door open to talk to JARVIS because since you misfits moved in, I have had to take him out of the bathrooms."

Clint rubbed his eyes tiredly, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed, but something in him forced the words, "This is the closest bathroom to my room."

"What do I care? There are a thousand bathrooms in this tower, go pick one." With that, Tony retreated into the bathroom, the door still slightly open, and he heard him shout an instruction to JARVIS that had too many syllables for Clint to ever hope to understand.

He took the elevator down to another bathroom and then back up to the kitchen, where Steve was frowning at the toaster, holding two slices of white bread in each hand while he narrowed his eyes at the appliance like he was considering a plan of attack.

"Good morning," Steve said, ever the gentleman.

Clint just grunted as he stood before the coffee machine, and after he had downed an entire mug of caffeine and felt his half open eyes begin to broadcast what he was seeing into his brain, he turned to Steve and said, "What's up, Cap?"

"I can't get this to work," Steve said, ushering hopelessly toward the toaster. "Stark showed me, but..." he trailed, shrugging.

"Okay, let me see," Clint muttered as he stepped toward the toaster. It looked simple enough, just a slab of cool metal with two slots at the top for the bread, but there were no buttons.

"Yeah, I know," Steve said, seeing the surprise on Clint's face. "I don't know how to turn it on."

Clint tried tapping the sides of the toaster in case the thing was touch activated, and then he tried speaking to it, but the machine would not yield to him. He checked the wall to see if it was plugged in and then flipped it upside down to see if there was an on button, but his search was in vain. The thing was inoperable.

"I saw Tony use it last night," Steve muttered.

"Maybe he used another one?" Clint suggested.

"Maybe," Steve said, but it sounded like a question.

Clint pursed his lips. He hadn't come in here wanting any toast but with the challenge the toaster was presenting, he found that all he wanted was toast and he wanted it now. With a frown, he picked the toaster up with both hands and brought it down heavily on the counter.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked sharply.

"Maybe there's a loose screw or something that needs to be set right," Clint said. "Rule of the twenty first century, Cap. If it doesn't work, hit it."

Steve nodded, then brought his fist down on the toaster hard. There was a heavy _clang_ as his hand hit the toaster with enough force to dent the metal. Clint winced, but the super soldier showed no sign that he had even felt the blow.

"Should I hit it again?" Steve asked.

Clint was about to tell him yes when the unmistakable scent of smoke reached him and he turned to see that the toaster was on fire. The slots where the bread went were emitting sparks and bright orange flames could be seen flickering within. Steve ran to the sink and grabbed the first thing he saw, a plastic container, and filled it with water as Clint watched the toaster burn.

"Wait, don't put it out!" Clint yelled as Steve held the container full of water over the toaster.

"It's on fire, Clint."

"Yes, I know that, but we want toasted bread, and now we have something to toast the bread with."

Steve glanced at the burning toaster apprehensively.

"We'll put it out when we're done!" Clint said urgently. "Now go get the bread before the fire goes out!"

And it was in this manner that they managed to set half the kitchen on fire before JARVIS alerted Tony and brought the man out of his lab and into the inferno.

"Are you two insane?" he asked, hands on his hips, looking far too calm for the owner of a kitchen that was burning in earnest behind them. "What are you, cavemen? Don't you know how to use a Goddamn toaster without setting half my house on fire?"

"It's your fault the toaster is impossible to use!" Clint sputtered, indignant, and then the sprinklers went off, dousing the flames and soaking all three of their clothes.

"Okay, I don't want breakfast anymore," Clint said, and he angrily trudged out of the kitchen.

He found Bruce in the elevator as he emerged from his room in dry clothes and was somehow roped into giving a bit of blood for the sake of science.

"I would've used Tony, but his blood is all wrong because of that arc reactor thing," Bruce explained as he punctured Clint's arm and drained what had to be half his body mass onto a colossal jar, the size of which Clint probably should have inquired about before agreeing to this bullshit. "And that makes you the only human among us."

"Yay me," Clint muttered, his eyes widening as the jar slowly filled with his precious lifeblood. "How much do you need again, doc?"

"Not much, Clint. Nearly there."

"What's this for, anyway?"

The doctor said something but Clint's view of things got a little hazy just then and he found himself falling quickly asleep to the sound of Bruce's mild voice. He jolted awake suddenly when Tony slapped him and he looked through the glass onto Manhattan, where the sun had passed the midway point in the sky some time ago.

"...isn't a hotel, it's a lab, and if you want to snooze, I suggest you do it in your bedroom," Tony was saying.

Clint blinked a few times before his brain caught up with him and he glanced down at his arm, where a bit of cotton was taped over the entry hole in the inside of his forearm. He glanced around but found no sign of Bruce.

"Your colleague just tried to bleed me dry," he said, his voice hoarse.

"That man wouldn't hurt a fly," Tony said with a scoff. "Now, clear out, Legolas. You're scaring away my muse."

Clint decided that now would be a good time for a late lunch, and his stomach growled in appreciation of the direction his thoughts were heading, as he went to the kitchen. Unfortunately, it was still slightly charred, but Tony's bots seemed to have cleaned most of it. The refrigerator was untouched, which was all he really noticed, and as he made his way towards it, he spotted Thor sitting at the table with his hammer taking space beside his lunch plate.

"Hawk!" Thor said in greeting.

"Hi," Clint said as he pulled a box of last night's Chinese takeout out of the fridge and collapsed onto a chair across from the demigod.

"You look unwell."

"It's been a long day," Clint told him.

"Indeed," Thor said. He pushed his hammer slightly out of the way and leaned across the table to better observe Clint. "You are pale."

"I gave blood to Bruce to... do something."

"Eat! It will give you energy."

Clint dug a dumpling out of the box and shoved it into his mouth, and for a moment the only sounds in the kitchen were of them eating. The fact that the most normal thing he had done all day was happening with the most abnormal of all the Avengers was something that made him chuckle, just as a bite of chicken was going down his tube and it caught there, unrelenting.

Clint slapped his hand on the table, trying to heave a breath but it only restricted his airways further. He struck at his chest heavily but to no avail. After a few moments of this, Thor, who had been busying himself with a drumstick, looked up from his plate at Clint and observed him curiously.

"Is something the matter, Clinton?" he asked kindly.

Clint coughed to dislodge the lump in his throat and slapped the table repeatedly to alert Thor to the fact that he was choking but the demigod smiled and said, "Yes, it is a hearty meal," and he began slapping the table as well. The edges of Clint's vision began to blur as his lungs burned for oxygen. He pulled himself to his feet and searched the room for something to throw his abdomen against as his eyes watered and his feet struggled to find purchase on the ground. He could hold his breath for longer than this before feeling the effects of oxygen deprivation, he thought, but perhaps it had been the blood loss that was letting it happen so fast. Just as he fell to his knees, he heard someone boom towards him and a pair of arms wove around his waist and pressed, hard.

The chicken dislodged itself easily from his throat and flew in a smooth arc to hide behind a recliner. Clint fell heavily to the floor, heaving breath after breath, his head swimming.

"Jesus, what is it with you today?" It was Tony, frowning down at him with his arms crossed as Thor came to stand beside him, looking flummoxed. "And what's wrong with you? Hasn't anyone ever taught you how to use the Heimlich?" he asked Thor, who shrugged easily.

"I did not know it was possible for someone as dexterous as Clinton to struggle with eating, as it is something you humans seem to be relatively good at," was the explanation.

"Okay, get out of my sight before I throw something at you. Clint, get off my floor and don't you even think about throwing up on it. God only knows what Bruce did to you in the lab and I don't want toxic puke on the carpet. It's imported."

Clint didn't need to be told twice, and his mind was too cloudy to think of a comeback anyway.

After a cup of coffee that set his mood to rights instantly, Clint decided to force the day around with target practice and he found Steve sending a punching bag flying in the gym.

"Long day?" he asked when he saw Clint.

"Don't," Clint warned.

He strung his arrow and sent one flying straight into the head of a paper target. After about ten minutes of amusing himself thusly, he realized it was too easy and he needed a challenge. Steve, who had taken a break and was sitting nearby with a bottle of water in hand, watching absently, suddenly looked like a pretty good target.

"I won't hurt you, I don't think I can, actually," Clint said quickly, but the soldier was surprisingly quick to acquiesce.

"I need the challenge, too," Steve said at the surprised look on Clint's face.

"Okay, don't go easy on me, then," Clint warned, and he immediately regretted it because no sooner had the words left his lips did Steve come barreling at him with the force of a stampeding bull elephant. Clint barely had time to leap for the nearest rope and begin climbing, taking shelter in the rafters as Steve hit the wall he had been leaning against with an impact that caused the entire room to shudder.

"What are you trying to do, kill me?" Clint shouted. He aimed an arrow just an inch from Steve's head to scare him but Steve looked undeterred, and he grabbed the rope and began his ascent.

"What the hell are you kids doing in there?" Tony's voice sounded suddenly from an unknown source.

"Nothing!" Clint yelled, and he spotted Steve pull himself onto a rafter dangerously close to his. He jumped quickly from one support beam to the other, noting with some surprise that Steve was having trouble doing the same.

"Nice try, but I belong up here," he teased.

"I suggest you run," Steve said calmly, and he jumped, his powerful legs propelling him over two beams until he landed on one directly in front of Clint.

Clint latched onto the rope and slid down, glad to have had the foresight to put on both gloves instead of the one he would have used for archery, and saw Steve yell as the rope burned his hands while he slid. Clint cackled madly, his mood turned all the way around, and he reached blindly for an arrow, knocking the switch under his quiver unknowingly, and aimed at Steve's foot, but he dodged easily. The arrow lodged itself into the floor, blinking innocently... blinking?

"Take cover!" Clint shouted, and he felt Steve hit him hard as they hid behind a stack of his punching bags.

The explosion was minor, but his ears were ringing and his vision was white for a full minute until a robot appeared and began spraying them with something freezing cold.

Steve pulled Clint to his feet and they surveyed the damage.

"Stark is going to go apeshit," Clint whispered. "We have to get out of here. JARVIS probably already told him."

They ran up the stairs and disappeared from view as Clint heard the elevator doors open and Tony's voice scream, "Bastards!"

Sweaty, sore, and with a hideous bruise blooming on his side from where the punching bag had been pushed suddenly against him during the blast, Clint jumped into the shower and emerged a new man. He then hopped into the shower again just for that feeling that anything was possible that came only from a good shower, and found that night had fallen outside. He also found that he was utterly spent, and that another moment on his feet would find him dead on the floor, with Tony and Bruce to have free reign with him. The thought jarred him fully awake, and he sped down the hall with no clear destination, his feet steering him into a room he knew very well.

Natasha was reading in bed, and only looked mildly surprised to see him.

"You look like shit," she said as he closed and locked the door, leaning against it heavily.

"I'm having the strangest day," he muttered, rubbing his face tiredly. "I think I just need to be with another normal human for a little bit. Do you mind?"

She shrugged her delicate shoulders and went back to her book. Clint dragged himself to her bed and spread himself beside her, and her hand found the back of his head and her fingers embedded themselves in his hair. She asked no questions, she didn't even speak, and Clint tried to stay awake as long as he could to enjoy it until sleep took him. He supposed, in the twilight time between asleep and awake, that this was as good an ending as he could have hoped for, for such a damn hard day.


End file.
